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He stood. He just stood. His ground upon the gravel-brought rooftops of his city. Not that he could call it his own, hardly, but the fractals and flower corpses that lined the laces of his sandy feet proved a relation to his mentality, so that was something at least. Though... the Earth had been to him what tides had been to his friends and followers, on the odd occasion, and yet surely, it was trustable. He knew it be, for it's fragile, it's quiet arrival had been just what was expected in order for his heart to be given; an allowance of emotion that had a tendency to dry fickle and choke like nettle vines, from the inside out. Living stained the blueberry bushes red, but rainwater salt could always cleanse them of that pain, the humility that was nothing but their own; leaving the flowers sprouting to the spring sun, alone, off to drain up the storm's givings to bring the day it's hard earned beauty. A vacation of mind could do all but exist, eternally on it's own heels and rotating as if it were a watermill.
Ideas. Caught. Carried. To Where? And here in the illuminating shadows, an irony really, wrapping around his feather-soft ankles, were the daisy stalks, like witches fingertips if not for their change in fate - their positivity.
Fireworks pierced the sky with shades of the Christmas season, crisp and clear air brushing across the lanes of his hair as it touched down against each wind. Streams of blinding light. The crystal remnants of the inner, and outer peace the angels had left long ago, but only now, with the dreams string on a paper-thin lace. Why now? Why not when the boy had needed it most? Had it always been that the illumination arrived only when inappropriate? No. Wrong word. Yet for eternity, these bubbles of hope sat silent in their mallow coves until it was they, who felt hibernation to be over.
Naturally, the flow this patented was meant to be, to stay; that he understood. But no longer could be take it. Whatever this... waiting - this longing - was, to snap into it's crescent and shape away from it's chrysalis, had been hurtfully time wasting. Painful thoughts and heavy days littered the skies above with droughtful, looming clouds that forgot to spread out their pools of refreshing droplets, never to relieve the pathways of core-bought overthinking. Enough was enough.
A hand, grooved to be gentle, could stand firm, as contradictory as it sounded. These hospital flowers had not been layed down to rest, but to love; to delicately plant a shoring embrace, a trusting 'never be afraid to let go of that edge'. For forever your body shall find what it lost low in the bushes, long ago.
Down the crickety metal steps he stumbled, taking with him short, shaken breaths. Arms outstretched to wings of the robins, head high a skyscraper, warrior in the centre piece between the bullets.
"Whatever skims a stone against my living, I will blossom. Not with ability, but by the lessons along which I strolled. Not to be bent by it's weight, but to take hand-in-hand it's touch. Alive. As I should be. Scared to death. Though never afraid..."
To flourish. Be this spirit. Taste these tears.
Be more and all than me. By being myself.
Hello. It sure has been a while.
This here is my entry to the Owl City Art and Literature contest a friend of mine has been holding.
I chose to write not only to my enjoyance but also.. to use as an output, of emotional combinations of my own thoughts, and those of others.

This piece is roughly related to the songs Plant Life and Hospital Flowers, though making reference to Alligator Sky along the way.
I hope you like it, it was nice to write in a sort of 'subconscious' of Adam's perspective again.

Have a great week, everybody.
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Submitted on
January 29
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